Churches and cathedrals did funny things to me. In the House of The Lord, I managed to find my urges bubbling quietly until it boiled out of control. I'm an atheist, a fledgling one. No such emotions to be felt when I was in a temple or a synagogue.
It would always be in a church. My 'stab-in-the-dark' suggested that it could be the beauty that was within the building despite of tits rotten core and history that brought out the animal in me.
When I looked around I saw solemn statues of the Virgin, she hadn't had any action, let alone saw one in a millennia or more. Maybe that was why she looked so forlorn. Mary oversees the entire church with her grand stature. She was a marble white figure with her painted china face and her blue robe faded by the passage of time.
I wanted Mother Mary to forgive me because of he urges that the church stirred in me. Neither a brothel nor a strip club, a church. Then, there were these dark, grotesque paintings of the fourteen stations around the main section of the church. A thread of images depicting His journey from the bloodied ground, his crucifixion and his ascendancy to Heaven. Scenes of sorrow that ended in joy.
When I walked in the church I felt that its floors hand been burdened by the steps of sinners. When I smelled the frankincense in the air I inhaled the breaths of sinners. When I perk up my ears I heard the confessions of sinners. We were all born sinners and there was nothing we could do about it. I would rather sin than to be a frigid forlorn statue.
There was a memory that surfaced from all these years... there was a place in the church itself that I could sin like there were no tomorrow. Tell me lover, do you remember the confessionals? In the evenings we tend to sneak into one of the empty wooden rooms. Claustrophobia did not bother me the slightest when I was in one of the rooms with you.
Your dark hair and eyes pulled me into the darkness. A body strong and healthy due to being battered by the outdoors attracted me so. The virtues of wet, lingering French kisses. You often left me breathless; I could have died a million times. Tongues lingering in each other's mouth. A moan or two barely escaping. Your taste in your mouth and lips I could not forget. The sweet scent and rich taste of black coffee, your favourite beverage.
Your wandering hands would fondle my tits as you kissed me, I was ready to die for the umpteenth time. Feeling my hillocks underneath my favorite strapless blue dress. I loved it when you fondle my tits as if they could break any minute. You accepted me as a woman and I was happy that they've given you hours of enjoyment.
You would pull my dress up so that you could see what was beneath. I was naked, my dark fuzz of hair blatantly announced "Honey, no panties today!". I never wore panties in church.
When I closed my eyes I could feel your lips lingered around my nipples forever and then you sucked them with a force that almost knocked me down in the confessional. Sucking like a wet vacuum. The noises turned me on greatly I could feel a slither of wetness dropping onto the skin of my thighs.
I asked you to stop sucking my tits and I turned around to face the wall with my ass in full view to your eyes. It was an unspoken signal for you to spoon against me. I loved this one as it was tender and I could feel so close to you. The skin on my back could feel your chest, sparse of hair but hard with muscles.
Your fingers than cupped my tits and fondling my nipples until they become as stiff as bullets. I could imagine you feeling the same between your legs and the constraints your jeans pressed upon your cock was killing you. Demanding release.
